


hiding the tears in my eyes because

by honeypottrap



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mpreg, Trope Inversion, it's not 9k but tbf it's not the bee movie script either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-09 16:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14719778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeypottrap/pseuds/honeypottrap
Summary: Nolan doesn't want to think about what place he'd have been drafted if he wasn't an omega.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> did my best to write the fic we deserved re: that anti with a big ol superiority complex :]
> 
> title from "hiding the tears in my eyes because / boys don't cry"
> 
> verse is the whole good-hockey-players-have-good-genes thing! sometimes you just gotta draft that talented young omega and keep em pregnant for the first few seasons.

They take Nolan off suppressants immediately after he's drafted-- the trainer confiscates the little orange bottle of pills, hands him a list of possible withdrawal symptoms and a phone number to call once his heat hits.

"What about training camp?" He'd asked, too damn naïve, still high after the excitement of being drafted to believe what his instincts were screaming at him, the suspicion and feeling of _wrong wrong wrong_.

The trainer had just shaken her head with a wry smile, placed a hand on Nolan's shoulder, right on top of the garish orange jersey that Nolan had managed to convince himself he liked. "Oh, honey. You won't have to worry about that for a while."

It's hard to push down on the frustrated tears once he realizes why-- it's not _fair_ that he'd be drafted not wholly for his hockey. He didn't even go first overall, lost that out to Nico, and that's a whole other level of embarrassment, really, because Nico's a _beta_. Nolan doesn't want to think about what place he'd have been drafted if he wasn't an omega, if Philadelphia hadn't been looking for someone for Giroux to knock up a few times before retiring. It's like some shitty _gotcha!_ , like there's an extra step to making the NHL as an omega.

He'd had to take a few moments before heading back to the reception-- blink against the stinging tears, concentrate on making sure his breathing didn't start to heave. He can't head back to his hotel and cry it out. There's nowhere for him to be _but_ here.

"I'm so proud of you." His mom had told him when they called his name, tears in her eyes when he hugged her. "This is the beginning of something great, Nol."

It's certainly the beginning of _something_.

"Congratulations, man," Nico says warmly, leaning in to hug him, and Nolan's stuck on the bright red of his jersey, the wave of jealousy. Taylor Hall's an omega-- Nolan wouldn't be in this situation if he were headed to New Jersey.

"You too," He manages, not quite able to make eye contact.

"Guess I'll see you in the big leagues, yeah?" Nico's smiling, and Nolan knows it's radiant with the way his voice is still full of wonder, excitement from going first overall, but he can't bare to stick around him much longer.

"Yeah, totally," Nolan lies, and turns to go find someone else to talk to.

"It doesn't feel real," he says with a fake smile when the media talks to him, and it's not entirely a lie. None of it feels real after the initial crushing disappointment, the visceral twist of realization, and that's... better, he guesses. 

There's nothing he can do.

x

He sees Claude for the first time after the draft in July, three weeks before the trainers tell him his heat is supposed to hit. It's some PR thing-- they're participating in a charity 5k, schmoozing up to all the people who donated money, but Claude still finds time to drop back.

"Welcome to the team, kid." Claude says with an easy smile, slapping him on the back, and Nolan inhales sharply. Being off suppressants makes everything more intense, and even though Claude's pretty much the stereotypical NHL alpha, his scent makes Nolan's pulse flutter. 

He's already red from the summer heat, but if he wasn't he'd definitely be getting there from the way Claude leans in a bit closer to catch his scent. The normal introduction's interrupted by the way he raises a quick eyebrow, presumably reacting to the fact that Nolan's off the pill.

He'd gotten the same reaction from his brother, when he'd visited. It's not any less embarrassing the second time.

Claude doesn't mention it, just sticks around and eases his nerves when he freezes up in front of the cameras. It's kind, almost, and Nolan can't help himself from watching him. He's got a smattering of freckles across his shoulders, dipping below his tank top, and Nolan can't tell if the urge to take it off is all his own or a symptom of going off suppressants. He supposes it doesn't much matter. It's just something he has to get through, he reminds himself.

Claude's everything Nolan had expected, somehow, but he doesn't treat Nolan like he's an omega the Flyers had drafted solely for him, so. Small blessings.

x

They set him up in a hotel in Philadelphia, and Nolan spends a few miserably dull days watching movies before he wakes up with the telltale itching heat underneath his skin. It would usually be fine, but this time he doesn't have any toys, no preparation-- he has a plan to follow.

"Fuck," Nolan croaks, rolling over to bury his face in his pillow, tears already threatening to fall. He stays that way until the heat becomes unbearable, light from the window marking midday. Biting his lip, he dials the trainer while adjusting the temperature as cool as it can go. His breathing's labored, and he's already feeling needy, but it doesn't completely counteract the nauseous anticipation.

She sounds cheerful, and that's almost worse than clinical detachment. "Right on schedule! I'll send you Claude's number-- just give him a call and let him know, alright? We'll make sure he gets a key."

Nolan hesitates, turning his phone over in his hands, but he's taken long enough that the ache between his legs is getting to be all he can think about.

Claude doesn't pick up on the first call, and when he does he sounds confused.

"Nolan?"

"Claude--" He bursts out, body already responding to the sound of Claude's voice. 

"I'm in heat, I need--" Fuck, he can't believe he's saying this. "I need your help, please,"

"You're-- what? Where are you?"

He sounds concerned, now, probably thrown off by Nolan's desperation, but he can't help it-- it's getting bad. He shouldn't've waited so long to call, to get out of bed.

"I'm at the Mariott in downtown," Nolan pants. "Please come, I need--"

"Shit, kid-- alright, I'm on my way," Claude says, rustling noises on the other end, and he hangs up.

x

He shouldn't've waited, shouldn't've waited, _shouldn't've waited_ , because the twenty minutes it takes Claude to get to his room are twenty minutes he didn't have. The heat is clouding his brain, keeping everything hazy, and by the time Claude's opening the door he's mostly out of it.

" _Claude_ ," Nolan gasps, trying and failing to push up on wobbly legs from where he'd been grinding into the bed, gritting his teeth against the ache. 

"Christ, kid," Claude says worriedly as he hurries closer.

Just the sight of him, the smell has him throbbing with need, and his eyes brim with tears with how he _wants_ it, too, how the one remaining part of his logical mind can't help but agree with shitty primal instinct. He wants to grovel on the floor, wants to be good for an alpha, and _fuck_ , that's the one part of being an omega he's always hated the most. 

It doesn't stop him from pressing into Claude's touch when he sits on the bed, from making an embarrassing high noise at the scratch of his calluses over his skin. Claude's looking at him, almost in wonder, like he's just now realizing that this is all for him, and Nolan pushes his face into the covers to hide his eyes.

"Please," He says into the blankets.

"You want me to fuck you?" Claude asks, placing a hand high up on Nolan's thigh, and he has to squeeze his thighs together. His boxers are sticking to his legs from all the slick, and he feels messy. He feels _empty_.

Nolan lifts his head, meets Claude's gaze with watery eyes. "I need it, _please_."

x

They didn't give him anything-- no lube or condoms, and it's almost like Claude doesn't realize that it was on purpose. It doesn't stop him from knotting Nolan bare. 

It certainly doesn't stop him from getting Nolan pregnant.

x

It's what they wanted, but management still wants to hide it as long as possible-- at least six months, they tell him, if not the whole time.

Nolan's a big guy, so he'd expected it'd be pretty easy to keep secret, at least for a little while, but he's unprepared for the way it happens so quickly-- the way he gets noticeably softer, rounder, right before his stomach starts to swell.

 _don't they have u on a diet?!!_ One guy from juniors comments on an instagram post, drawing attention to the way his thighs aren't quite fitting into his jeans, so Nolan stops posting pictures.

Nico's _did you make the team?_ text goes unanswered, and Nolan declines his Facetime requests-- his bump is horribly, horribly noticeable even in the fifth month, especially when he sits down. His gut twists in shame, thinking about how he'd react, seeing the way his shirts don't even cover him anymore. He doesn't really leave the apartment they've set him up in, at least not covered up in layers of loose sweaters. Sweaters that fit a bit too snug, if anyone were to look too closely.

Even so, Nico keeps texting him, keeps calling him like he's worried. Like he _cares_. Nolan wonders if he'd still care if he knew he was completely out of his league, if he knew why Nolan'd actually been drafted so high. 

It's just one more thing to get through before he'll get to the NHL.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5/28/18: Beefic removed from the archive
> 
> TW for Nolan not being too happy with his pregnancy, having anxiety. If you have dysphoria associated with pregnancy or having kids, this'll probably tug at it.

(July)

So-- Nolan goes to training camp, pretends he still believes that he can make the team this year. It’s enjoyable, at least, being able to skate with the team. Everyone’s so fast and talented and _friendly_. They’re a great group of guys, hardworking and determined, and-- they deserve success. Nolan supposes that’s something he can give them, sort of. In time.

Claude’s a really good captain, an incredible leader, and it’s different, when Nolan sees it personally. He’s attentive, checking in with everyone each day. Nolan doesn’t mention his heat, and beyond Claude’s quiet ‘ _you okay_?’ when he first sees him, Claude doesn’t mention it, either.

It feels nice being around him, in a not-quite-natural way, which-- sucks, really, because it’s his body telling Nolan something that he’s not ready to hear. Still, Nolan takes advantage of Claude’s kindness, gets him to help him with faceoffs after everyone’s off the ice. It’s selfish, even though Claude seems happy to do it, so eventually the guilt outweighs the purring happiness and he stops asking. Acting like he has a chance at making the team this year had gotten tiring, anyway.

The sickening hatred he feels for the Flyers disperses into confused nausea, considering he’s getting to know the people he’s… helping. He doesn’t make the roster, obviously, so he won’t have to face them anymore, but the nausea sticks around.

Nolan tries not to think about what that means.

x

Officially, Nolan is getting ‘sent down’, and they end up weaving a story of a lower body injury shortly after. Management isn’t going to take the risk of letting him skate. With his history and the hernias, it’s not unbelievable. Nico doesn’t text him about the final roster (too awkward, Nolan supposes), but he does when PR releases news about his injury.

_:( just heard_

_get well soon_

He’d cracked the Devils lineup-- easily, from what Nolan’s heard, despite playing through whatever wrist problems he’d told Nolan about. Nolan can’t stop himself from wondering if Nico thinks he’s weak, for not gritting his teeth and bearing the pain through his ‘lower body injury’. Maybe Nico is finally believing what the media has been saying-- that ultimately, Nolan had no chance going first overall. That it was his weakness that got him there.

It’s a pretty stupid thing to worry about, Nolan guesses, because Nico doesn’t stop calling him, even though Nolan doesn’t have many stories to contribute anymore. Besides-- some mornings it’s really hard to get out of bed, to do anything other than feel the crushing weight over his shoulders, and he’s _still_ doing it, gritting his teeth and bearing _that_. If that’s not strength-- if that doesn’t prove he’s willing to fight tooth and nail for this, then he doesn’t know what will.

x

Nolan’s still in Philly, since he’s ‘injured’, and it’s kind of weird, but TK keeps coming around, tries to keep up their friendship from training camp. Nolan doesn’t know why, because he knows he’s not been the best person to hang around with at the moment-- even though it feels like he’s gotten used to the stress, he still gets frustrated easily, is prone to long spells of gloominess.

Maybe that’s why, actually. TK insists he’s got to keep him cheered up during his injury, and it’s ridiculous, but it makes Nolan happy, to have someone to eat and play video games with.

(TK’s an alpha, too, and that’s… probably part of it. He’s being coerced into giving a shit by whatever instincts, the same reason Nolan likes having him over long enough to get the couch to smell like him. It’s shitty, but Nolan doesn’t have the strength to distance himself-- TK’s all he has, practically.)

“Travis… Konecny, you mean? Isn’t he an alpha?” Nico asks, sly, when Nolan mentions him offhand, and suddenly Nolan’s skin feels hot and tight. Nico doesn’t mean anything by it, Nolan knows, but it doesn’t stop him from digging his nails into his palms, exhaling carefully.

“Um, yeah. He is.” Nolan says, and changes the subject.

x

It’s been long enough since his heat that the trainers ask Nolan to come in for some tests. It sends Nolan into a flurry of panic, really, because he _knows_ , but what if. What if he isn’t, this time? He ends up buying a home pregnancy test on the way home, because he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle the news without crying. Better at home than in front of the trainers.

He feels like _shit_ , turning the box over in his kitchen, and he doesn’t want to know-- just wants it to stop. Of course, what Nolan wants doesn’t really matter, because they drew blood earlier this morning, will have an answer for him tomorrow.

 _Over 99% Accuracy!_ , The box cheerfully proclaims.

He opens the box and takes the damn test.

x

It’s been sitting facedown on the sink for fifteen minutes, now. He’s not sure what he wants-- it’s not like they won’t make him try again if it didn’t take, this time. It’d be over quicker, if he was, and that-- that would be easier. Nolan can’t decide either way.

He turns the test over. Pregnant.

Nolan’s stomach twists. He swallows against the rise of bile in his throat-- guess he did prefer one option after all.

x

TK comes over after practice, blurts a concerned “ _Shit_ , are you okay? What’s wrong?” when he catches sight of Nolan’s reddened eyes. Nolan shakes his head, opening his mouth to say something, _something,_ but his voice is impossibly weak, quiet.

“I’m pregnant.”

“Shit,” TK says worriedly, stepping forward to rub his hands up Nolan’s arms. Nolan hadn’t realized he’d been shivering, but it turns out he is-- shaking like a leaf. “Are you sure?”

“Test was positive.” Nolan mumbles, barely audible, and TK exhales.

“That’s-- okay. You just took one? This one?” He asks, reaching around Nolan for the box, still on the counter, and Nolan nods. TK’s eyes dart over the box quickly, and he stands up a little straighter, projects soothing alpha authority. (Nolan’s knees are a bit weak from it.)

“Okay. So these--” TK says, certainty wavering after only one word. “They can be wrong. Only ninety nine percent.”

“Only ninety nine percent.” Nolan repeats, incredulous and hysterical and unable to keep the mild amusement from his voice despite everything. TK frowns in mock offense, though his eyes visibly brighten at Nolan’s reponse.

“What we’re gonna do, is this: I’m going to the store to get another one.” He says, already holding his keys. “You’re going to-- do what you want. Go with me, or, stay here-- oh. I brought Chipotle.”

TK stops, glances down at the paper bag he dropped-- corn chips are scattered over the floor, a few already crushed under their feet. That’s easier to focus on than the possibility of facing another cashier, face burning in shame.

“Guess I’ll stay here and clean up your mess.” Nolan tries to joke, and TK practically sags with relief when his voice comes out evenly.

“Okay. I’ll be-- back in twenty. Back in ten,” TK amends, chips crunching underfoot as he hurries out the door, and Nolan sags against the counter, brushes a quivering hand through his hair, thoughts still racing but feeling far better than before, though that’s not saying much.

TK’s back before he manages to move again, and if he thinks something about the obvious lack of cleaning that went on, he doesn’t say anything, just heads into the bathroom and opens the test himself, flips through the little paper instructions.

Neither of them are surprised to see two pink lines this time.

TK breaks the silence. “Okay. We can-- I mean, you and-- is there someone who--” He stumbles, and Nolan shakes his head. “Right, okay. This is fine. We’re gonna get through this. You have lots of options.”

Nolan doesn’t, but. He appreciates the sentiment.

x

TK’s waiting for Nolan when he gets out of the trainer’s office. Nolan knows he’s waiting for a decision, and that’s-- something he doesn’t get to make. It's already been made for him.

“First ultrasound’s on the seventeenth.” Nolan says, just to get it over with, and TK nods, immediately pulling out his phone to set a reminder-- doesn't even question it, and. That part isn't so bad.

x

It’s hard to watch the ultrasounds. Nolan usually just breathes through his nose, focuses on the cool gel over his abdomen instead of what’s in front of his face-- he catches himself gripping TK’s hand a little too tightly, sometimes. He throws the photos away when he gets home.

TK’s aggressively cheerful, happy about the whole thing, and it’s enough for the both of them. If he notices any red flags-- anything about how Nolan’s avoiding talking about it or the team, he doesn’t say anything.

(Nolan doesn’t tell him how it happened, and TK doesn’t ask. He’s not completely sure why he’s still keeping him at arm’s length, but it turns out to be a good thing, because TK’s gone a lot once the season starts. When he’s back, he always has stories about the team, stories about whatever “G did this time, Nol”, and it makes Nolan feel sick. He could tell him, but he’s still so, so ashamed and so he just-- doesn’t.)

x

It’s a good thing that he didn’t think about learning the gender til he had a chance to, so he’s only tense for the moment it takes for the doctor to ask. In hindsight, it sounds really ignorant, but-- all the pregnancy books have been sitting unopened inside his closet for months. He’s been compartmentalizing a little too much, maybe, but it makes things easier.

“Would you two like to learn the gender today?”

“ _Yes_. I mean, or-- it’s whatever Nolan wants,” TK blurts before correcting himself, and the doctor smiles to herself.

“Yeah. I wanna know,” Nolan manages, throat tight, and it’s almost like he can’t breathe for a second, but then the doctor turns the screen around.

“You’re having a boy.”

Nolan releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding, eyes glued to the screen. TK laughs beside him, beaming-- swipes at the wetness on Nolan’s cheeks.

He didn’t know he’d been crying.

x

It sinks in a couple hours later. He’s having a baby, a _son_ , and hasn’t bothered to _care_. TK left after he dropped Nolan off, hoping for a quiet evening before his road trip, but Nolan still dials him.

“I’m having a kid, Teeks,” Nolan says out of nowhere, and it’s like an open wound-- raw and throbbing. TK’s quiet for a few moments.

“Can I come over?” He asks, and that’s what Nolan wanted in the first place. Hardly any time’s passed when TK ends up at his door for the third time that day, and he doesn’t fuss when Nolan drags him in to scent his neck for a few long moments.

“I noticed you’d been-- throwing them out, so I--” TK breaks off awkwardly as he steps back, pulling out a dogeared pregnancy book. “I thought you might-- change your mind, I guess, so I kept them.”

They’re wedged in front of the back cover, and Nolan pulls them out with a shaky hand. TK’s staring, concerned, but Nolan can’t stop himself from brushing fingertips over the images, taking them in seriously for the first time.

“Thank you,” Nolan’s voice is hoarse, and TK leans in to hug him, and it’s-- nice. He’s not sure what he’s thinking, thoughts scrambled, but one thing sticks out.

“Do you think--” He breaks off, hesitant. TK waits a few seconds before gently prompting him.

“Do I think what?”

“Do you think it’s too late, to be-- good to him?” Nolan can’t quite keep eye contact, but TK softens.

“Not at all, Nol.” He says, and he might be lying, because Nolan isn’t feeling that connection, that maternal instinct, but he _is_ feeling determined and less aimless than he has in months.

Nolan exhales and rests a hand over his stomach.

x

Alex’s hair is impossibly, impossibly red when it comes in, light and soft to the touch, so that’s pretty much a dead giveaway. TK seems more agitated, afterwards, though if that’s because the playoffs are nearing, Nolan can’t tell.

Besides, he’s stressed, too-- they need to tell the team, need to release a statement to the media. It’s all he can do to focus on Alex and recovering.

And while it's mostly all bad things, the way TK's gone more, the way he still feels a bit blank when he looks at Alex-- his suppressants start being mailed to him again, a few weeks later, and a trainer contacts him to schedule conditioning for the summer. Nolan can barely handle the way it feels, getting that phone call. 

He doesn't trust himself to hold Alex without the chest sling for a few hours after, his hands are shaking so badly. He goes back and forth, deciding who he should call-- who would want a call, even, before deciding not to bother. Nolan did this alone. He'd have to explain so much, and it wouldn't be easy. Wouldn't be the overjoyed victory lap around his apartment that he ends up doing with Alex cradled into his chest.

“You probably won’t make it for training camp. Might not have much time left in the season once you’re ready.” The guy tells him, frowning sympathetically, but it’s all Nolan can do to stop himself from laughing in relief. It’s within reach.

**Author's Note:**

> i know im gonna regret this but sometimes you just gotta be petty. hope you enjoyed and hey! even if you didn't that's okay! let people enjoy things!!!


End file.
